


Chain Stitch

by evocativecomma



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Found Family, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocativecomma/pseuds/evocativecomma
Summary: The strange stretch of the connection between Pike and Grog has spanned continents and dimensions, but shrinks down immediately to almost nothing once they come in close again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentions of canonical character deaths, canon-typical violence, and a healthy dose of angst. Mostly, though, just Pike, Grog, and a lot of yarn.

He approaches her sheepishly one night with a skein of bright blue woolen yarn; he's brought her yarn since they were young, when she first picked up her hooks and needles and began to make things. Yarn of every color and texture (though since the treachery demon they seem to operate on an unspoken agreement to avoid reds), from every booth, cart, shop, and wandering salesman they pass on the road.

Pike sets down her crochet hook—one of a set Percy made for her, a gift when she returned from her journey aboard the _Broken Howl_ —and looks up up up into her friend's face. "Oh, thank you, Grog! It's lovely."

Grog sits down beside her, still close to towering over her despite her chair and his seat on the floor. "Uh, Pike, do you… Could you teach me to do that?"

Pike's face lights up, the glow of her own radiant smile so different from the divine energy of Sarenrae coursing through her. "Of course!" She looks down at the delicate yarn and needle in her small hands, then over to Grog's, almost the size of her torso, and chews her bottom lip. "I think we'll have to do it a little differently, though."

After that, it's not unusual to see the pair sitting together in any of a handful of corners in Greyskull Keep, bent over their soft work.

Pike uses her better quality yarn to create garments for the other members of Vox Machina, even once making Keyleth a simple forest green dress so fine Gilmore mistook it for silk at first. For the most part, though, she uses whatever she can get her hands on to craft scarves and shawls for the poor, the downtrodden, or the simply unhappy folk they come across.

Grog, with his massive fingers and broad movements, uses his hands and heavy woolen yarn to make blankets; the stitches are surprisingly even and delicate. When he gets confused or loses track of his rows, Pike folds up her own work and counts aloud with him, tracing her fingers over the wide loops and helping him find his place.

"Nice work, big man," Vax says after Grog finishes the first blanket, a slightly lumpy thing in a nondescript shade of brown, "but isn't it a little too full of holes to keep anyone warm?" He realizes his mistake moments too late as Grog casts the blanket out like a net, wrapping Vax up and holding him tightly around the middle with arms like iron bars, inescapable no matter how much the smaller man kicks and bites.

Finally, after Vax has exhausted himself trying to fight and Grog has nearly choked himself with laughter, Pike looks up from her latest scarf and raises an eyebrow. "I think it's time you let him go, Grog," she says around a barely suppressed smile. "If he flails any more he might ruin some of your stitches."

Grog's eyes widen and he drops Vax immediately, shaking out the blanket and peering at it as closely as he can for damage.

///

The coverlet on Pike's bed in Greyskull Keep is so long that it drags on the floor from both sides and off the foot, but by morning it's usually the only blanket left on the bed: spread out flat in some places, folded over in others, and crumpled into a large ball toward the pillows. It's a rainbow of colors and textures laced together in wide loops, like the only real qualification the different kinds of yarn needed to fit was "soft."

It's the product of the week of rest between Vox Machina's return from the Underdark and their voyage to Vasselheim with the Horn of Orcus. While the group spent much of their time devoted to separate projects and errands, Pike and Grog sat quietly together in front of the hearth in one of the castle's sitting rooms, heads bent over their yarn. Every once in a while, Grog would hold up the fledgling blanket and look between it and Pike, gauging the two in his head.

The result is one of Pike's most precious possessions: a soft, warm riot of color to keep her safe and comfortable. On nights she can't sleep, or that she sleepwalks, the blanket trails yards behind her like a train as she wanders the keep's halls.

///

When they leave Pike in Vasselheim for the first time, Grog takes first watch and never wakes the rest of the party for the other shifts. By morning, he has a blanket of blue-green yarn just large enough for Vex, though it seems to shrink toward the end like he was losing stitches as he went.

He stretches like he's rested and throws the blanket into the bag of holding before anyone but Percy sees it.

///

Pike's blanket escapes the destruction of Greyskull Keep tucked safely inside the bag of holding; when she decides to stay in Whitestone to tend the injured, Grog retrieves it with a small smile, wrapping it around her shoulders with gentle hands.

"I saved it for you," he says, watching her face light up at the familiar warp and weft of the yarn. "One of the corners got a little singed, but—"

"It's still beautiful, Grog. Thank you."

Vax elbows Grog in the side and grins. "Just another thing to pay those dragons back for, eh, big man?"

Grog looks down at Pike, swimming under the long trails of the blanket, and nods once.

///

The river camp outside of Westruun is a patchwork community of shell-shocked refugees clutching their meager families and possessions to their chests, milling around the banks, shivering and starving. There is some semblance of community left, and in these early days since the appearance of the Conclave, an already stretched-thin sense of hope.

When they leave, marching on into the mysteries of the Frostweald, all of the dozen children in the camp have massive woolen blankets wrapped around their shoulders, and so do a handful of adults.

///

It's strange, Percy thinks, how clear it is that Pike and Grog grew up together when you take a few moments to watch them. Vex'ahlia and Vax'ildan are an obvious pair of siblings—even without the resemblance, they touch constantly, communicate seamlessly, and move like an inseparable unit. Their bond is so very nearly tangible that it's almost offensive to Percy from an emotional standpoint. (Or is it a narrative one? He'd grown up thinking things like that only happened in stories.)

Pike and Grog, though, take more study. True enough, their affection surrounds them like a miasma, but it obscures the smaller closenesses unless one cares to look: the way they twist their hands in the same manner when lying; the way Pike fights with her right side carelessly unguarded sometimes, never registering that she's missing Grog at her back; the way Grog forgets his strength with almost every member of Vox Machina except Pike, and then Scanlan as he gets used to having another gnome in his family.

Vax jumps instantly to his sister's defense in all things, but Grog leaves Pike to her own devices and only steps in in the most dire circumstance. The strange stretch of the connection between them has spanned continents and dimensions, but shrinks down immediately to almost nothing once they come in close again.

///

In the sphinx's temple at the heart of the Frostweald, there is a moment of utterly breathless silence as Grog's greatsword spins out of the whirlwind and buries itself deep in Pike's middle. It's like the treachery demon all over again: her wide, blank eyes full of the odd dull shine of the dying. Grog pulls himself out hand-over-hand, and Pike sets her feet, holding the blade in her gauntleted fists to tether her brother to the proper plane. The group watches in fixed horror as she pulls the blade from her belly, hands it back, and pushes Grog back into the fight.

///

After they've returned to Westruun—Grog's death in the snow, the banishing of Craven Edge, and the fight with Kevdak—Pike and Grog are in the training room at the bottom of Scanlan's mansion; Percy skirts the edges of the room, methodically fiddling with the trigger of Retort and deciding where improvements should be made. He's not eavesdropping, but he feels he may rather well be intruding upon a moment, so he shrinks against the wall.

Grog, with the Titanstone Knuckles slowly fitting themselves to his massive hands, lays out items from the bag of holding that might be useful to Pike; though they talk over the possible merits of each piece, her eyes flicker repeatedly back to the gauntlets she'd held previously, and finally she slides them on, cheering and dancing around Grog as they adjust to her size. They talk quietly while the magic attunes to their bodies; Pike pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, rocking slightly beside Grog, laid out on his back and staring at the ceiling.

Suddenly, she stands straight up onto her feet, and Grog sits bolt upright, looking around for any sign of danger. The only threat, though, is Pike—she flexes her fist once, plants her feet, and swings _hard_ right at Grog's shoulder.

The impact is thunderous, and the Goliath even flinches slightly, but he doesn't otherwise react.

"Damnit, Grog!" Pike cries, swinging again, the blow glancing off his upper arm. "I told you! I told you I couldn't lose you, I couldn't lose you twice in one day! What am I supposed to do without you?" Another punch, a half-hearted blow to the stomach that barely makes contact before Pike falls to her knees in front of her friend.

As Grog rests a hand on her shoulder, Percy sidles along the wall and slips out the door.

"I'm sorry, Pike, I didn't— Kevdak had to—"

"I know! But you died, Grog! I brought you back to life because you _died_! How many times can I do that? I'm so scared that every time I leave it'll be the last time I'll ever see you? What if I'm not there? I can't do that, Grog. I can't lose you. Please. I can't. I can't lose you."

Grog wraps an arm around her and pulls her close until she's engulfed by his arms and legs; he remembers when they were both smaller, the difference between them not so great.

He hears, as he wraps his massive arms gingerly around her waist, the deafening crack of her spine between the claws of the treachery demon. He buries his face in her hair, tears rolling down his face. "I'm sorry, buddy. I won't leave you again—but don't…don't go from me either, okay, buddy? I don't like the world without you."

Neither says anything for a long while, both breathing heavily against each other. Finally, Pike lifts her head from his chest, flexing her fingers and pushing hair out of her face. "Did it hurt at all?"

A pause. Grog doesn't have the same skills as the rest of Vox Machina; letters and numbers get jumbled in his head—he doesn't read or write, and he counts poorly. He doesn't have Vex's well of patience, doesn't talk as prettily as Percy, doesn't weak spots like Vax, can't inspire like Scanlan. But Grog remembers. He remembers the crack of her spine, the echoing thud of her small body on the stones of the throne room. He remembers a world without Pike in it.

Grog doesn't have the same skills as Vox Machina—he can't lie. But Pike is looking at the Gauntlets of Ogre Strength dwarfing her hands, wondering at the change in her strength, how she compares to what she had been.

"Yeah, buddy," he says, looking away from her, "it hurt."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so deep in the Critical Role pit it's hard to see the sunlight, but that's never really concerned me anyway. I kind of figured I'd start by writing something shippy, but I'm a huge sucker for found families and sibling relationships and Grog and Pike just kill me, so here's this. I loved the idea of them sharing an activity, especially something specific, and the thought of it being a creative act was particularly heart-warming.
> 
> More Critical Role work to come, no doubt, and feel free to come join me in the pit on [tumblr](http://shootthewendybird.tumblr.com)!


End file.
